The Nappy Hip - Holy Drinker, Clapham Junction

A sure way of raising a heckles of anyone who lives in South London is to mention the C word. That's right, Clapham. That stretch of land between the SW4 and SW11 postcodes that is maligned as it is admired by all and sundry. The reasons for this animosity depend on who you ask, but for some people they've never forgiven the place for becoming a South of the river version of Chelsea.

Within Clapham there are two clearly marked territories. The Clapham High Street and surrounds are home to the younger city / west end crowd, whilst the Junction is better known as Nappy Valley. Visit there in the daytime to understand why. Yet the Junction has changed over the last few years, and dear I say, some of its drinking haunts are approaching 'coolness'. Albeit begrudgingly. First among equals in the cool bar stakes is

The Holy Drinker on Northcote Road . A cafe style drinking den that becomes very pre-club as the evening goes on.

I recently visited there with my main critic-in-chief The Engineer, and was pleasantly surprised to find a place that in terms of music, people and vibe would not look out of place in Soho. And I mean that as a compliment.

As you would expected from a converted shop, the bar is longer then it is wide, and is split into three sections, most of which are tabled to allow the girls to rest their heel tortured legs.

Having said that come 10pm and pain seems to have disappeared, as the rear of the bar goes all mini-disco with the lasses doing the seductive dance thing, while rugger types ogle them over their lagers. The music is a mix of RnB and commerical dance, and the drinks on offer are your now standard mix of semi-exotic lagers, new world wines and classic cocktails with a 'twist' (i.e. a new name).

Re-reading my description and I feel I am probably underselling this place, as it is a very good bar. The staff are excellent and the vibe is fun without being remotely cheesy or 'pick-up'y.

I would generally not recommend a visit to the Nappy Valley for a night out, but if you are going to be down that way, do check out the Holy Drinker

Talking about Revolution Bar - Leadenhall

It's amazing how quickly a month goes by. That's how long it's been since my last posting, which given the considerable time and effort I've put into London bars recently is a tad shameful. Something that the Engineer was only too quick to remind me on Saturday night. So getting back on track, I'll talk about my January visit to Revolution Bar in Leadenhall.

Remarkably I was there for 'work' as the wise heads that run this chain asked me of all people to review it. Appraise might be the better word. This was always a risky proposition for them as my previous experience of the chain had not been good (Clapham November 2008 - truly dreadful) and I had heard that the city venue attracted some dubious characters. And I don't mean New Zealanders.

Fortunately for the owners, and probably my bank balance, I am pleasantly surprised to report that it is a nice old bar. The venue itself, in what was once a Midland bank, is spacious and opulent in a tasteful rather then tacky way. The clientele are your normal city types out celebrating Friday night, interspersed with those poor souls (mostly women) that imagine they'll meet and win over a millionaire banker who will be thrilled by their lapdancer inspired gyrations. It is what is is.

I was there with a broker, who by chance is a millionaire and is single. Although given that neither of those selling points are obvious to anyone (unless you should enquire) we were left in peace. Much to his chagrin.

We tried the cocktails (vodka based of course) which were fair, if nothing special, and even went as far as a glass or two of champagne. All in the name of research of course.

The music was your expected mix of commercial RnB and pop (Girls Aloud seemed to be popular that night), and the crowd warmed up nicely turning the place into a little dancefest.

So the report back to Revolution was good, and my cheque - as promised - was in the post. It's not a bar I'd go to again by choice, but certainly not one I'd avoid. Quite a statement given some of the bars around here.

Czech your drinking - The Luxe, Spitalfields Market

There are big nights and then there are ridiculously big nights. On what was my second visit in as many weeks to The Luxe in Spitalfields we'd gathered together a crew of occasional and frequent imbibers to celebrate all things Friday.

John Torode's - as in Smiths of Smithfields and occasionally MasterChef - latest bar has copped more then its fair share of criticism much of which is hard to understand. For a start its a very beautiful venue with a birdcage type exterior enhanced by high windows and funky, modern furniture. The Luxe's design is very much in keeping with the original Spitalfield's market albeit successfully updated for the noughties.

Second the service, whether at your table or the bar is slick and charming - there's not too much waiting around at this place. And finally it has a buzz reminiscent of when Smiths of Smithfield's first opened. It's not by any means hip, but it successfully strikes the balance for those city workers and wannabe hipsters for whom the other pubs in Commercial Street and Brick Lane are a little too grubby.

The first time I visited the Luxe was on a Monday night on which it had enough of a crowd and ambiance to justify drinking on the earliest school night. By the second visit we were at full-on Friday mode, with birthday parties, party girls and boys, and us - the occasionally motley drinking crew that included such luminaries as the Northerner, Lady Devon, Young Elvis, the Engineer, the Caister Boy, Betty Boo and the Architect and the Senorita to name but a few - meant I was never going to get off lightly.

And that turned out to be the case as, instead of stopping at three to four of the 6% Czech beers, Young Elvis and I powered through what must have been a dozen or so, and behaved accordingly. The Northerner wasn't best pleased. After all, she'd only had five caipirinhas.

Finally I called time, probably not a moment to soon, stumbling off into the night, and leaving the pretty young things to have some fun. Nevertheless I do think the Luxe is a very good addition to the Smithfield's portfolio and a welcome alternative to the awful banker bars of Bishopsgate. Not that you want too many more bankers there. Nor, if you take into account how I felt the next day, do you want to overdo the Czech beers. Don't say you haven't been warned.

Drinking prohibited - Jamaica Wine House and Prohibition, the City

This weekend may have been the tipping point. When I finally concede that going out drinking and partying hard all weekend is a young person’s game. A game from which a person should retire graciously not disgracefully. A game that isn’t good for you.

The only problem is that it’s so much damned fun - so enough of the remorse and on with the recap. Friday night lights saw a motley crew of Heavy D, the Engineer, the Running Man and yours truly descend upon the wonderfully misnamed Jamaica Wine House. In tow were two guys from work, who by virtue of being born in the eighties were boy band like compared to the aging rock star that we were in both physique and style. The Jamaica Wine House is not the type of place I imagine you would find in Jamaica. Nor is it a ‘Wine House’ in the traditional sense, but a lovely old fashioned pub. However apparently it is on the site of London’s first coffee house from back in 1652 and apparently the ‘new’ pub is 19th century. So like all things English – it’s very old. It’s also very, very good and the gang and the boy band settled into a hearty male-bonding session based on talking about ourselves. The foundation stones of any good drinking session.

The boy band departed, probably in search of someone younger and more interesting people to talk to and the remaining crew kicked on for a nightcap or three at Prohibition on Bishopsgate. Prohibition is a bar in the genre as Strawberry Moons and Abacus – cheap drinks, cheesy music and a good times atmosphere. Cool it most certainly isn’t but it’s the sort of place that is common across the UK with the main difference being that in the London variety people tend to come straight from work. So suit city then. I was criticised Braveheart recently for not saying anything bad about any bars I reviewed, as if to imply this was a bad thing. I will give him this then – Prohibition, as with the rest of its brethren, is not a great bar, but it is a lot of fun, and a good place to indulge in some serious partying. But be warned; it's a young persons game.

Living in Sin – Living Room and Strawberry Moons, Heddon Street

I had I had never heard of the expression ‘commuter belt’ until I arrived in the UK. It took me a long time to realise what it meant, and even longer to know people who aspired to, or worse did actually live there. Yet as I sat on a train to Epsom over the weekend, I was still none the wiser as to why anyone on earth would want to become part of that scene. I mean it’s not the city, and it’s definitely not the country, but it isn’t really the suburbs either. Rather it’s a collection of people who like semi-detached houses, Chinese takeaways, 4 X  4’s, Waterloo train station and shopping in Waitrose. In that order. Plus someone even tutted at me when I went to open a beer on the train. I mean tutting – who ever does that in real life?

However it is obviously good for kiddies (why people who live in these areas say kiddies instead of kids or children I’ll never know), and given the houses that these people live in its very good for barbecues. Thus the reason I found myself at the Quiff and Texas Embassy girls place for a superb afternoon of sunshine, drinks, and several variations of meat, not to mention some pretty damned fine company. However after several hours of the Engineer and I enlightening (or some might say boring) the other guests on the intricacies of rugby, Heavy D declared time and we headed into town to meet his dear friend Radio 4 for a cheeky vino at Living Room in Heddon Street.

Living Room is one of those bars that I have spent many an evening in with the Northerner given its close proximity to fashion city, and it is a splendid place. I’d never been on a Saturday before mind you, and was pleasantly surprised that the normal collection of Mayfair suits and fashion buyers had been replaced by good natured tourists and overloaded shoppers all enjoying the al fresco drinking and general ambience of the street. The bar serves a great selection of wine by what seems the pint, and has some nice laid back ‘lounge bar’ music going on which isn’t as bad as it sounds. The place is hardly hip but everyone pays a lot of attention to how they look which seems to pay off. By coincidence I even bumped into the Don who was on a night out with an ‘acquaintance’. Whatever. It was good to see him and after bading farewell to Radio 4, we rounded off the night at the atrociously down market Strawberry Moons where we caught up with the Don and his ‘acquaintance’. This bar is an institution and with its cheesy music, oversized cocktails and fun and frills mix, it’s a hen party magnet. Which of course tends to attract a certain type of fella. Ånd after several hefty beers Heavy and I decided to call it a night after the staggering realisation that we had finally stumbled upon a bar too downmarket even for us. And given that I have spent a night at the Reflex in Cardiff that is saying something.

But the Living Room is definitely a great watering hole, and Heddon Street on a sunny evening is a superb place to soak in all that’s good about the West End. And even dear old Strawberry Moons held up well in the spotlight. Although I suspect a lot of their patrons are from the commuter belt.

Mahiki tiki tavi

Mahiki in Mayfair seems to have become famous on the back of a certain pair of royal brothers, which is normally enough to put off a die hard republican (note the small 'r') like me. Fortunately the bar has a lot more to offer then wealthy toffs in polo shirts and baseball caps. Anyway, I hear they now go raving 'out East' nowadays. Friday night and a motley crew of commoners that included Heavy D, the Engineer, the Northerner, Texas Embassy girl and l headed out to Mahiki to celebrate the Quiff's birthday. 

The last time I had been there was to celebrate my own coming of age a year or so back and was pleased to see that all the elements that make it a great bar were still in place. Wonderfully mixed, high quality cocktails. Check. Classic seventies and eighties pop. Check. Bar staff dressed as extras from Hawaii 5 0. Check. 

We settled into one of the many upstairs booths and started attacking the cocktail menu. The Northerner and the Quiff got intimate with something Dark and Stormy, I got off with a Honolulu Honey, and Texas and the Engineer struck a rapport with the vodka based Fa'aene's. Heavy D drank beer. Crazy dude that he is.

The Quiff and Texas Embassy were heading out to dinner, so we said our farewells and after a few more sharpeners headed downstairs to carve up the dance floor. Well the Northerner did whilst the rest of us shuffled from side to side and tried not to look like minicab drivers. 

The places was rammed with gangs of pretty young things busting moves to a great DJ set that included the Clash, Abba, David Bowie, Wham and even some seventies Elvis. Too cool for school this place.  Eton and Harrow were obviously still on Easter break judging by the Prince Harry wannabes bouncing around, but they were harmless enough. Although I'll never quite get that turned up polo shirt collar look. 

The cocktails meanwhile were having the desired effect of getting everyone singing along to the likes of Spandau Ballet and Michael Jackson while the dance floor got cosy bordering on intimate. Which suited the boys just fine.

The Northerner and I finally hit the wall - literally at one stage in my case - around 1amish leaving the boys to try with what seemed like misplaced optimism, to chat up the Kate Middelton and Paris Hilton lookalikes that were leaping all over the dance floor. No doubt the reports will come in soon enough.

Now to find some berocca and maybe think about having a Bloody Mary. 

East is Best

Nothing cuts through class barriers quite so effortlessly in London as the local pub. Around Spitalfields where I frequent, are a fine collection of old boozers where fashion designers and creatives, newly poor bankers and original East Enders all get merrily drunk together with that Dunkirk spirit that is unique to the British. This is not a London that fans of Richard Curtis movies would recognise and is probably all the better for that.

The Northerner was out with some of the fashion set on a pub crawl of Gay Soho, so the call went out and Heavy D (formerly Big D, lest you were wondering), the Caister boy, the Engineer and yours truly all descended upon the Golden Heart on Commercial Street. The Golden Heart effortlessly mixes together old East End locals, with the creative and financial services set that have encroached on its territory, and manages it all with aplomb. An old fashioned jukebox and a steady flow of beers saw the crew singing along heartily to Rod Stewart's greatest hits - something I feel we managed very well, although I don't think the collection of French designers sat next to us thought so. And people say the French have sophisticated tastes.

From there we stumbled up Brick Lane, with the obligatory stop at the legendary Brick Lane Beigel before finishing the night at the Shoreditch version of Beach Blanket Babylon. This place gets some bad press and I'm not quite sure why. The place is more Peaches Geldof then Alexis Chung, and there's an awful lot of Class A action going on in there which I guess isn't everyones thing. However Heavy D certainly appreciated the pretty young things bouncing around the place and a great DJ throwing some good tunes down , accompanied by a steady flow of cocktails kept the crew entertained for several hours of mayhem.

One final point. I'm not sure that the crew's 'undercover polic chic' style suited the vibe of the place. Or any place for that matter. I am very sure it won't catch on. Next week we'll try the estate agent look.